


Intelligentsia

by amaryllis_radiata



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Homosexuality, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaryllis_radiata/pseuds/amaryllis_radiata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set within Matti!Canon (MRSJeevas) circa The Mello Code for her birthday. <3</p>
<p>Mello has a case that takes him overseas, but Matt isn't being very supportive (although he'd really love to be).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            Chicago was colder than one might expect for March. Wind whipping off of the water brought moist, cold air along with it. Mello might have blamed that and the heavy grey clouds that looked to be threatening snow for why he was currently tucked away in the corner of a café looking out onto Michigan Avenue rather than riding his rented bike north to continue his investigation, but his lack of progress had much more to do with his wayward geek of a husband he’d left safely back home.

            He checked his phone again to see if Matt had gotten around to emailing him the addresses and contacts he’d asked for over an hour before and was unsurprised to see no new messages. He offered it a glare as though the redhead might feel it on the other end before setting it down again. He should have just gotten the information himself at the hotel, but then he’d been on the phone with local police and had forwarded the work along. As early as it was in the Windy City, it was well into the afternoon back home and Matt had no excuses to still be in bed.

            Mello realized with no small irritation that he was now out of the dark chocolate and cherry flavored coffee this café specialized in. He snatched up his phone and dialed, offering the table of girls that were staring at him a flicker of a frown. He dug for the bar of chocolate in his coat pocket while the phone rang on, ripping the corner of the foil off before Mail decided to get around to answering.

            “’ello?”

            “Matt, I needed those addresses when I sent them to you. It’s been over an hour. How the hell do you expect me to make any progress with nothing to go on?” Mello paused to snap off a bite of chocolate, taking in the fact that he wasn’t hearing the telltale beeps and tones of a video game being played. “What are you doing?”

            “Glad to hear you got in yesterday without incident,” Matt rasped in return. Mello frowned. “I’m just wondering why you need addresses to local gay bars and clubs.” There was a sniff.

            Mello’s chocolate had paused before his lips and now he set it down beside his empty coffee cup. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

            “Dodging the question, Mello?”

            Mello rolled his eyes to look at the ceiling. Matt wasn’t retreating into himself, nor did he seem to be panicking. He sounded off, but he figured that there was still a 98% chance that he wasn’t crying. Something else was wrong then.

            “Did you think to look over the files I forwarded to you before I accepted this case?” The silence on the other end of the line might have been disconcerting if Mello let himself think about it. Matt’s hands were never still. “Men’s bodies turning up with multiple stab wounds and no identification. No easily discernable connections between them. No shared relations, features, occupations, or even countries of origin. Until roughly an hour ago the local police were arguing with me over whether the same knife had killed all nine men. So, Matty, why might I have asked you for those addresses?”

            Mello heard the click of a lighter and his husbands soft inhale. It was followed by a muffled cough. Mello schooled his expression into less of a sneer and readjusted his hair to make sure it wasn’t his scar those girls were still staring at.

            “Last known locations?” Matt offered, voice still sounding harsh even with the coating of nicotine.

            “What else would I go there for?” Mello snapped. “You still didn’t answer me.”

            “Well, gay men go to gay clubs for a lot of reasons, but seeing as you’re married I’d hoped it wasn’t for-”

            “Matt.”

            There was a hint of laughter, but a round of coughing quickly cut it off. Mello waited until Mail sounded like he was breathing normally again before raising his chocolate back to his lips pensively.

            “You’re sick. Since when?”

            He heard a faint release of breath that might have been a sigh. It was followed by the beep of his phone receiving an email.

            “Woke up with it. I’m fine. You should have all of the information you asked for now.”

            Mello resisted the urge to pull the phone away from his face to check it. He let his tongue dip out to lick the edge of the chocolate bar tentatively, wondering if Mail had shown any signs of illness the day before. He couldn’t recall any, but his flight had left at noon and he’d had Mail drive him to the airport, and any warning signs could have easily been lost in his husband’s normal early morning miasma caused by lack of caffeine and nicotine.

            “Do you have a fever?”

            “Oh, don’t fuss, Mello. You’ve got a case, remember? Go get those leads!” A soft cough. “Uh, solve your case. Then come back to micromanage.”

            Mello sighed. Aside from sounding like crap, Mail seemed fine. He didn’t have the patience to play nurse over the phone with a case looming and his husband being difficult about it.

            “I can do both. Take your temperature and text it to me,” he ordered as he stood from his seat and gathered his things to go. “Whether you have a fever or not,” he added.

            “’kay,” came the muttered response after a pause. He could hear the chimes of a game being started up.

            “I mean it, Matt.”

            “I’m getting up to do it,” was mumbled around a cigarette. Mello let the harshness slip from his voice.

            “Thank you, guapo. This shouldn’t take me long and I’ll be home again. Te amo.”

            “Volim te.”

            Mello hung up the phone and pushed out into the cold, skimming over the information Mail had sent him before deciding where to start. He didn’t feel the vibration of his husband’s text until he was well into traffic, but he let himself relax a little with the assurance that Matt was still cooperating with his orders.


	2. Chapter 2

            Mello checked the time on his cell phone under the pretense of seeing if Matt had replied after the last text he’d sent. It was almost 5:00PM. The bar he was sitting in the parking lot of would be opening in just over an hour, and yet the manager that had promised to meet him had yet to show. He shifted in his position leaning against his bike, letting the impatience and fatigue of the day creep in to mingle with the jetlag.

            Everything so far seemed like a waste. Most employees he’d spoken to hadn’t noticed the victims themselves, much less whom they might have spoken to or left with. None of the establishments had cameras posted anywhere except the parking lot (if they had one). His short rant to Matt about this earlier had only resulted in his husband reminding him of the type of bars he was visiting and the number of people who probably didn’t want to be seen visiting them. He’d already been irritated by Matt’s fever and lack of initiative to do anything about it, but his tone and the lack of progress had had him snapping that Matt should just go to bed. That had been over fifteen minutes before. Mello was quickly becoming convinced that he was being ignored.

            He did another glance over of the parking lot and surrounding area, wondering at the fact that the bar had managed patron-only parking in such a large city. His eyes trailed to the multiple street lamps before settling on the back door and fenced off dumpster. For everything being so well kept he’d have expected the idiot manager to show up promptly.

            Mello flicked his hair over his shoulder, taking his phone out to see if he’d missed a call or text. Nothing. He scowled at it, debating on sending another text to Matt or calling this Mr. Lowe when he noticed a beat up Ford pulling into the lot. He tucked his phone away in his jacket and straightened his posture as the truck parked up beside him and its driver hopped out looking harassed.

            “Are you the P.I.?” he asked immediately, offering Mello a double take as a he came around the hood.

            “I am the detective, yes.” Mello extended his hand for a shake as so many of the bar owners had done for him earlier in the afternoon. It was quickly grasped in both of the man’s hands.

            “I am so sorry! Got caught up in traffic and, to be honest, was expecting another couple of hard-ass cops. Nobody told me you were family!”

            Mello felt the smile freeze on his face for a moment at the word. His mind raced. Nothing about the way this man carried himself or the lilt in his voice suggested mafia. He watched uncertainty cross the Mr. Lowe’s gaze for a moment, and then forcefully reeled his expression back to pleasantness as the slang sunk in. Mello felt the smile on his lips before his mind had caught up to the fact that a complete stranger had deduced that he was gay at a glance.

            “Probably because sexuality isn’t usually on the mind when dealing with law enforcement or anyone related to it. You’re the manager, Mr. Lowe, I take it?”

            Mello had let the man’s hands slip from his carefully, but kept his charm turned up in everything from his smile to the casual tilt of his hips. The doubt had slipped away, much to the Slav’s relief, though he’d probably picked up on the swift subject change.

            “Call me Frankie, everyone does. They didn’t mention your name. Mind if I open up while we talk? Running late as it is.”

            “My name is Mello.” Mello nodded him ahead, habitually checking his coat for extra chocolate and tucking his helmet beneath his arm. He trailed a few paces behind while the backdoor was unlocked and lights switched on ahead of him to illuminate the hallway. Mello glanced over the magenta walls and bathrooms tucked off to one side. “Did your boss happen to mention what I was here to ask you about?”

            “Oh, if you mean the body count most cops around here have been ignoring, then yes. Probably not much I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

            Frankie had disappeared around the bend up front. The sound of a register being counted drew Mello from his quick observations of the back hall. He took in the rest of the lounge as he emerged, somewhat surprised at how high-end the furnishings were. That explained the private parking. Frankie was bent behind the bar finishing his counting, and so Mello drifted over to take a seat at one of the plush white stools. He laid the notepad and folder of evidence onto the counter, idly glancing over the arrangement of alcohol before focusing on the small camera disguised as a wall clock.

            “Your bar’s security footage was never released to the police. Any particular reason why?” Mello asked, flipping his notepad open to a blank page and taking out a pen.

            There was barely a pause before Frankie’s reply; “Oh, that’s because we haven’t got any. Thought there might be better luck with the cameras the bar next door put over the sidewalk?”

            “Really. Shall I list you the make and model of that one?”

            Mello pointed to the clock with his pen as Frankie glanced up. He watched the surprise flit across the other man’s face before being quickly smothered.

“Uh, that’s a clock…”

“It’s made by a company called PalmVID. That one records on an SD card,” Mello muttered while suppressing his annoyance. He was too tired for games and had precious little evidence to go off of as it was. “Shall I go on with the details or will you answer my questions honestly?”

            Frankie stood and faced him, discomfort practically oozing from every pore. “Look, man, I’m really not supposed to…”

            “I’m more than aware of the clientele that patrons your establishment. I have no interest in releasing their faces to the media.” Mello paused for a moment, fishing a bar of chocolate out of his jacket while giving Frankie time to respond. He didn’t, other than rubbing his neck.

            “One of your former patrons is now dead, Mr. Lowe. I think your current ones would like to remain amongst the living. If there is a murderer in their midst, help me catch him.” Mello’s icy scare locked onto Frankie’s wary one. “Call your owner and let me talk to him if you’re worried about losing your job, or we can wait until the police come back with a court order for the footage from that camera. Ask yourself this: who would you to prefer see your customers’ faces? Me, or those ‘hard-ass’ cops?”

            He watched the man swallow thickly, then give a short nod. He was glancing at a couple other points in the room, gaze far away as he thought.

            “Ok. You’re right. I’ll… I’ll grab the laptop from the back.” He looked almost pained as he slid the drawer to the register closed and disappeared into the back room.

            Mello used the moment to check his phone again, barely withholding a sigh. Matt’s text in reply had been, incomprehensibly, “Octopus.” Mello stared at it, scowl turning down the corners of his lips. He scrolled up, catching sight of the first response of, “can’t.” He fought back the impulse to call, hearing footsteps approaching from the backroom.

            “Take your temperature again,” he sent quickly, then tucked his phone back into his jacket. He offered Frankie a welcoming smile, though the manager looked warier than ever.

            “Everything is recorded and saved on this, though we only save about six months at a time.”

            “I can copy the relevant nights onto an external hard drive in a moment. There simply isn’t enough time to review this here before you open. In the meantime, could you look at this photograph and tell me if you recognize anything about it?”

            Any protests Frankie might have had about Mello taking the footage were stilled by the victim’s photograph being placed upon the counter. He stared at it for several seconds, then furrowed his eyebrows and nodded.

            “I remember him. He’s a businessman that comes around every few months or so. I think… yeah, he was here several weeks ago. Stefan, uh, can’t remember his last name.” He paused as Mello started writing, continuing at his nod of encouragement. “German. Really nice guy. Had a family back home.” He paused, realization creeping into his expression. “Wait. He’s been murdered? I didn’t see this on the news!”

            “With all of the murder in Chicago, I’m not surprised that you missed it,” Mello responded quietly. He watched as Frankie’s shoulders slumped, shifting a little on his stool to survey his notes. “If he was here several weeks ago, you may have been one of the last people to see Stefan Hemmer alive. Frankie, if you can give me as many details as you can remember about the other patrons that night it will go a long way in assisting me with this investigation. The footage will put it in context. With any luck, Stefan’s family will have justice within the month.”

            Thirty minutes later had Mello leaving the bar with more leads than he could have ever hoped for an hour previously. He was in such a good mood he almost forgot to check his phone before swinging his leg over his bike. He paused to do so, flinching a little at the simple “38.9” that had been texted to him. Matt’s fever was definitely getting worse.

            “Drink some water. I’ll call you from my hotel,” he typed back, still frowning a little over the cryptic message of “octopus” from earlier. Whatever it meant, hopefully Matt knew well enough to hydrate and lay still for the next forty-five minutes while Mello drove. He nearly typed that instruction in, but decided to leave it and kicked off quickly after fastening his helmet. Genius didn’t dissipate under fever. Mail would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm craaaaaazy busy, but I wanted to get this chapter up ASAP. Hopefully the next one will happen a little faster!

**Author's Note:**

> I've been super busy, but there should be more chapters soon!


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